Red Plum Parasol
by MeltedChocoButton
Summary: Lisbon has realised that preparation is key.
1. Chapter 1

Red Plum Parasol

Disclaimer: I don't own the Mentalist and am not making any profits from writing this fic.

When Cho returned from the kitchenette, he was just in time to catch his phone ringing. He was a few steps from his desk when he noticed something: a small yellow ball, soft and fluffy, resting harmlessly next to his electronic pencil sharpener. The toy chick had not been there before he went on his break.

The line of Cho's spine lengthened a fraction of an inch. The handset reverberated again.

In two short strides he was back in his chair. The chick was deposited in the adjacent trash can with one hand, while he picked up the receiver with the other.

"Cho," he stated blandly.

"It's Lisbon. I need you to check if the suspect had any accounts under the name of 'Clemence'- We're looking for a large transaction in the last six days."

"On it, Boss."

"We'll be back in about two hours."

No delay in response. "Ok." He hung up.

Lisbon noted that he was still being a hair's breadth more efficient than usual. This was not good. As she sat back in her carseat, she couldn't suppress a frown. This was as close to a full-blown argument that Cho and her had ever had.

A guilty little shadow spilled across her thoughts. No, she thought. She had to remain steadfast.

She was preparing him.

The SUV manoeuvred another deep slope in the narrow country road before the freeway fell into sight. The small town of Greenburg was now left far behind, obscured from view by the richly forested mountains. VanPelt held the steering wheel solidly, inwardly wincing whenever the car hit uneven ground.

"You're doing fine, VanPelt," Lisbon said warmly, from her seat behind the driver. She decided to stretch out her legs as she had the seat all to herself. They'd done a lot of walking today. Uphill. Downhill. And on rough terrain. If she was tired she wondered how Jane had faired.

She sneaked a glance at her consultant, sat upfront next to VanPelt. He looked relaxed, thoughtful. His gaze drawn to the vibrant heavily-leaved trees and vast grassy fields that rushed by his window. His suit was more crumpled than usual, but he didn't seem tired. Lisbon smiled at how he sat not with the air of another passenger, but someone being chauffeur-driven.

The events of the day washed over her.

The victim's home had been an eye-opener: a secluded glass and wood cube slotted into the side of a densely wooded hill. Mrs Rose, the victim's widow was a quietly alluring woman with creamy white, unblemished skin and large black eyes, slightly too large for her face. Though her eyelashes and eyebrows were fair, her hair was dyed a deep black. Jane had been enchanted/ disturbed by the woman's expansive collection of ornamental Japanese parasols.

In the main lounge, the paper sunshades dominated every inch of wall-space. He saw that they were stripped of their bamboo handles so that they could be mounted flat against the wall, forming rows of intricately painted circles. The colours were exquisite- plum reds with a sprinkling of delicate white cherry blossom, deep vivid blues. He ran a finger over the folds of an apple green one. The paper had a pleasing roughness.

The sheer number of parasols, however, was overwhelming. It looked like an armoury of paper shields.

Rigsby sat on a plump white couch, trying to take it all in.

"Do you like my collection, Agent Rigsby," Mrs Rose asked as she passed him a glass of chilled water.

"They're very nice, ma'am," he nodded in gratitude for the drink. She smiled warmly at him and popped a bright green cocktail umbrella in his glass. Jane smirked.

In the car, Rigsby tried to suppress a grunt of pain as VanPelt negotiated another pothole on the mountain road. Lisbon took pity on him and shrugged out of her jacket, balling it and wordlessly handing it over the headrest to him. He smiled sheepishly.

"Thanks, Boss," he said, as he put it under his ankle. She nodded and turned to face the front again. Jane had watched the entire exchange in the rear view mirror. His mischievous eyes tried to catch Lisbon's, but she pointedly ignored him.

"Those painkillers kicked in yet?" she asked.

"I think-yeah", he said, slowly pulling up the hem of his pants leg. "It's pretty swollen." VanPelt took her attention off the road for a second to throw him a sympathetic, that's-too-bad smile. Jane's grin grew to an indecent proportion.

"Yup," said Jane, appearing to look nonchalantly out of the passenger window. "Having the tip of an ornamental parasol being shoved into your ankle will do that to you."

Rigsby's hand twitched and he opened his mouth to say something, but VanPelt slapped Jane's arm. He gave a surprised yelp.

"Not nice, Jane," she chided.

"Just making a basic physiological observation, my dear Grace," he said, seemingly in all seriousness. A few more trees whizzed by. Grace adjusted the air-conditioning.

"_And she was fair as is the rose in May_," Jane spoke with a deep, affected timbre. Lisbon tried to appear wary, but was secretly impressed.

"Poetry corner. Nice." she quipped, deadpan.

"An elegant lady. A sociopath of course," he mused, "but not our usual, run-of-the-mill murderess." His features softened slightly in thought.

"Such a delicate little thing. Very genteel, didn't you think, Rigsby?" Jane curled his head around his headrest, his face beaming. He poked the ceiling of the car with his fingers.

"Jane," Lisbon growled.

"Don't worry, Rigsby. Nobody at the station need know who was responsible for your-," he waved his hand in the general direction of Rigsby's foot, "-assault". He didn't bother to keep out the hint of amusement from his voice.

"Well, actually they will, Jane," Lisbon started. "Rigsby will be making a full report." Rigsby looked slightly panicked.

Lisbon looked at his crestfallen face. She couldn't help but think that underneath the obvious physical pain, something else had hurt Rigsby today. She wanted to console him.

"You arrested her, Rigsby- in the end, I mean. That's all I'm interested in. That's all _anyone_ should be interested in." Lisbon eyed Jane for the last sentence. He grinned at her, his eyes twinkling warmly. Beautifully inappropriate. He settled back in his seat as a glittering lake swung into view. He marvelled at the expanse of clear water.

"And such thin wrists," he murmured.

Rigsby groaned. Pitifully.

Lisbon found it hard to deny her guilt in the episode. She thumbed the edge of her blackberry, ensconced once again in her thoughts. She had realised, almost as soon as Jane had, that Mrs Rose was implicated in her husband's murder. Perhaps she should have warned Rigsby, when he accompanied Mrs. Rose to the station. The widow had been told it was to identify her husband's bloodied watch. It was a lie.

Jane had waited until he was sure the pair were close to the lake- and in reach of Mrs Rose's boat, before he rang them. Rigsby had relayed Jane's news to the widow: a new witness had given a crystal-clear description of her husband's attacker. Her response had been as fast as it had been brutal.

Rigsby had always had a soft spot for damsels in distress. Lisbon thought it was endearing. He was a good detective, but he'd missed the signs today, the cracks in the widow's facade. She had a ruthlessness that spiked the sweeping softness of her timid appearance.

It had gone unnoticed by Rigsby. He had a tendency to idealise the delicate feminine creatures who occasionally crossed his path, saw only their rose-petal fragility. After today, he'd probably be more observant.

Lisbon felt bad for him. It was hard to bury a lifetime's way of seeing and understanding the world around you. Her stomach felt hollow and she hoped that the case-closed pizza would help a bit. But she knew hunger wasn't the root cause of her unease.

The guilty shadow didn't recede from her mind, so she refocused her thoughts.

It was a hard lesson, but Rigsby had to be ready.

She was preparing him.

Quote, "And she was fair as is the rose in May." -Geoffrey Chaucer


	2. Chapter 2

The dirt road carried them down from the hills, drifting under gravity into county roads. They meandered into highways, finally pooling back into the large town of Reddington. Lisbon felt the fragrance of pine trees slowly fade into gasoline fumes. Jane's bright outward gaze had slowly become inward-looking; he was more caught up in his own thoughts and concerns. She sighed. That was the end of the team's brief affair with nature.

Right now, though, she had more pressing matters. Literally.

In the car park of Mount Oakwood Medical Centre, herself and Van Pelt struggled to support Rigsby's heavy weight. Just ahead of them, gleaming in the afternoon sun, the stark white exterior of the hospital radiated cleanliness and professionalism. Just a few yards and Rigsby would be in safe hands.

"You good?" Lisbon sounded doubtful. Rigsby pitched forward slightly and the women tightened their grip on him.

"I can go get a wheelchair," asserted Van Pelt, helpfully.

"No!" Rigsby spluttered. "I'm fine. Let's just go. Please."

They made their way to the thick stone porch signalling the entrance. Four sets of white pillars held up a flattened pyramid roof.

An orderly helpfully rushed out from the sliding doors to meet them, deftly taking Rigsby's arm from Lisbon. She thanked him.

"I'll be right after you," she said as her two agents and orderly walked quickly into the building. She pulled out her blackberry and fired off a quick text to Cho, telling him of the change of plans. As an afterthought, she told him to go home early if there were no new cases.

That done, she began to follow inside. She suddenly realised Jane wasn't with her. She turned her gaze to the parking lot. He sat, position unchanged, in the front passenger seat.

"Jane!" she called. She beckoned him with her hand.

Jane stubbornly didn't move.

"Jane!" she called again. Not a budge. _The ass_, she thought.

He looked over to her and began to mouth something. She focused, trying to make out the words. Still, he made no effort to wind down the window and call out. She gritted her teeth. She had the distinct feeling she was being played as she marched towards the SUV. Yet, inside, she couldn't suppress the tiny feeling of relief and warmth. Maybe there was still a pocket of alpine air somewhere in that car.

She reached the door of the car. It was awkwardly parked, Van Pelt having had to squeeze into a narrow spot close to the entrance. Lisbon made to open it, but it was locked. She glared at Jane. He raised his right hand unhurriedly, and pulled down the sun visor. Then he held his index finger, almost daintily, on the window button. The glass slowly came down.

"Jane," she said.

"Lisbon," he answered. "Would you be an angel and part with the keys?"

"I'm not an angel. Why do you want them?"

He held up his hand to his brow and squinted at her. When she returned his look with a blank stare, he continued.

"The sun's in my eyes. I need to move the car."

Lisbon flicked her chin in the direction of the hospital.

"You're not coming in?"

Now it was his turn to look blank. Jane and hospitals. Silly question.

"If Grace had _reversed_ in," he went on, "like I politely suggested, I wouldn't be in this predicament."

She rested her back against the back car door and felt the blazing latent heat in the metal seep into her lower back and bottom. Her tired muscles almost creaked in bliss.

"Well, I think she had to prioritise other things. You know with Rigsby's pain and his ankle about to explode and all."

"No need for sarcasm, my dear," he said warmly, watching her in the wing mirror. He rested his bare forearm on the window frame. "It would have taken Grace no time at all. One minute at the most."

Lisbon shook her head, pushing off the door with a little reluctance.

"The scary thing is knowing you're not joking." She looked at him semi-warily. His eyes were brimming with humour.

"Please," he said, his face soft and imploring. "The keys?"

And she would have acquiesced right then, if it hadn't been for that hint of a victorious smile already forming, the one that told her the clump of metal and plastic was as good as in his palm.

Perhaps she just wanted to prolong the easy, unworried atmosphere they'd shared in the tiny mountain town. Maybe it was just too good an opportunity to pull one over him, while he was still away from the stagnant darkness of his attic.

For whatever reason, she stood up straight and threw him a bold look.

"You brought shades. Wear them," she smiled and she strode off.

Her sense of satisfaction lasted as long as it took her to reach the hospital porch and the two rows of pretty blue flowers choked into pots flanking it. The familiar sound of the SUV's engine had her turning to see Jane neatly reverse out of the space and turn to the left. With the vehicle's momentum still driving it backward, he smoothly changed gears, pulled forward into a postion ahead of the spot and reversed back in.

He was now covered by a thick, fat shadow.

He killed the engine and reclined in his seat. Lisbon watched it all with an achingly familiar mix of wonder and irritation.

Hotwiring a car. Well, it wasn't an _unsurprising _addition to his arsenal of skills she considered. She couldn't see his face now, but she had a good idea of what was plastered over it. She headed to the sliding doors.

Just as she did, his voice bellowed from the driver's seat.

"Less than a minute!"

How she hated him. She smiled hard.

It was times like this that she had dreaded, ever since her meeting with Hightower nearly six weeks ago. When Jane was locked away in his attic, coming down only when necessary, she could get on with the task she had been instructed with. Seeing him at his playful, irreverent best over the last days had made it more difficult. And painful.

The sliding doors opened and a cool blast of conditioned air washed over her. It carried the smells of a medley of chemicals. The most bracing was the familiar sting of hospital-grade disinfectant. As she walked inside the world of peach walls and high-shine floors, she realised that she would probably always associate that smell now with an indisputable fact. She, Teresa Lisbon, was a coward.

Rigsby had made a complete success of making himself comfortable. Resting on his hospital bed, his ankle was elevated on a blue foam block. The nurse had cleaned it and the affected area was slowly being drained to alleviate swelling. It had been nearly two hours since his admission and the pain meds he'd been given had softened his thinking, pulling him into a warm, frothy state of absentmindedness. He bobbed his head rhythmically as his i-pod piped in soft rock classics to his ears.

The wounded agent was engrossed in a fresh copy of 'Weapons of Fortune' magazine that Van Pelt had sneaked into his room. He was just eyeing up a nice nickel-finished Colt King Cobra with a 6 inch barrel and rubberised grips, when he saw another presence in the room.

"Cho!" he called out. He dropped the magazine with a smile to see his stocky colleague standing solidly at the foot of his bed.

"Hey," said Cho, with a jut of his chin. He quietly took in the sight of Rigsby and the small hospital room with its soft salmon walls and light pine-coloured laminate floor.

"Dude, when did you get here?" Rigsby blared, pulling himself upright. He struggled to hear himself over the rousing chords of an 80s' guitar solo. The pain meds had seemingly dissolved the synapse that connected the loudness in his ears with the volume control button in his hand.

Cho moved closer to him. "Just now," he answered.

"Did you get here just now? " shouted Rigsby, not sure why Cho was mouthing a silent response.

"I'm in the room, man. Quit shouting."

"What? Huh?"

Before he could begin to regret his two hour journey from Sacramento, Cho took a last step forward and pulled the headphones loose with a swift tug. Understanding flooded back into Rigsby's foggy brain and he sunk his head back into the pillow.

"There a problem with the case?" asked Rigsby at normal volume.

Cho looked at Rigsby's ankle, currently hooked up to a drainage bag which was slowly filling up with a curiously revolting looking fluid.

"No. Boss said the perp messed you up real bad. Had to see the damage for myself."

"She never said that," said Rigsby immediately, crossing his gown-clad chest with his arms.

Cho shrugged. "Close enough." He pulled up a chair near the head of the bed and turned Rigsby's open magazine towards himself.

"Thanks for coming, man," said Rigsby with a knowing smile.

Lisbon sipped cold water from a little plastic cup in the waiting room. She always avoided the ultra-cool water tap on water-coolers. Her teeth were too sensitive. Van Pelt was typing up the last of her report on a laptop, sitting a few rows behind her. Aside from themselves, the first floor room was empty.

_Jane, _she thought._ Jane in the forest. Jane in the attic_. Lisbon couldn't stop thinking about him. He was two people and she'd always thought she could reconcile the two. But she knew different now. He'd never lied to her about his intentions for Red John. She had hoped that he'd told her to give himself a way out. Not consciously. But maybe, without even realising it, maybe he thought if he told her, she could stop him.

Desperate reasoning.

She felt a little cold, sitting so close the air vent so she pulled on her jacket from the back of a chair. She gasped in surprise. A little cocktail umbrella was in her button hole. Fully opened, the delicate green garnish made an odd little boutineer. It was the exact same shade as her eyes.

_Jane_, she thought. She closed it gently with her fingertips.

"I'm done, Boss," piped up Van Pelt, closing down the lid of the laptop.

"Great," said Lisbon getting up and smoothing down the front of her jacket. "We'll go through your interrogation technique, now."

She walked towards the trash can beside the complimentary cart and dropped in her empty cup. The little green umbrella followed suit.

A/N Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed it. I made a few additions to the first chapter that I forgot in my haste to upload. But nothing that affects the story. Disclaimer and who wrote Jane's rose quote.

The next chapter should be up next weekend. If you've got the time to share your thoughts on this fic, I'd be more than grateful. Anything you liked/hated is all wonderful feedback. Thanks!


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